Old Pines
by DeerMe
Summary: Sherlock and John take a break from school to go camping, John is practising for his Duke of Edinburgh award. A little fun (I hope) fanfic, with some fluff and drug use. I don't condone the use of drugs. I don't own the characters either. JOHNLOCK If you like this, I could continue with it.


Old Pines

The woods were thickly lined with ice and each leaf crisped distinctively as Sherlock and I stomped between the brambles. I had to carry all the bags, Sherlock had pleaded that he couldn't so that he could pick up specimen on our way to the camping spot. The snow had dusted on his curls so lightly that it made him look just a little bit angelic. I turned back from Sherlock to concentrate on not tripping.

"SHIT, BUGGER, FUCK." The woods echoed with a flurry of harsh slurs as I heard the wail of my friend, followed by the 'THNK' of him hitting the ground. I turned to see Sherlock spitting out ice, his skin red as it burnt against the cold ice.

"Need help?" I asked, offering my hand. He stared at me in silence and took my hand, whilst holding back my laughter I passed him my flask of coffee.

"Thanks." He poured himself a carefully measured amount of coffee and blew at it attentively. His bowed lips were now a shade of purple as he sipped at the drink; I turned to smile secretly at his naivety.

"We're about ten minutes from our destination." I looked at my map, compass, and then my watch. "Do you think you can make it?" I turned and took my flask back.  
"No, I don't think I can." Sherlock brushed his hands through his curls and then started walking.

"Why did I even agree to this" "So that I could practice for my gold D of E, and you could pick up some new things to test when we get back to school." Sherlock then grunted. "And you spend all your time cooped up inside anyway, it's good for you to get out and breathe every now and again. Even Mycroft agreed." Sherlock scowled at the mention of his brother. "It's starting to get heavy again" I put my palm up in the air to see the snow more clearly. "We need to walk faster."

-

"Right, I think that's everything good out there." I checked the last few ropes of the tent and crawled in through the entrance. "Are you okay, my lord? Can I offer you tea? Perhaps a comfier perch to sit ones fat arse on?" Sherlock was sprawled out in the centre of the tent reading a book. "Tea would be lovely thanks." Sherlock mumbled. "Yeah, well. You can wait for that. I need to rest." I squeezed into a small gap between Sherlock and the side of the tent; careful not to actually touch the tent though, in fear of water coming through.

"Sherlock, move over." He grunted. "This tent can fit four people, or ten people and an aggressive Lestrade if alcohol is involved. I'm sure you can find it in your heart to move over and give me some damned space." Sherlock gave in and moved a few inches, allowing me to make a nest-like bed and get comfy.

"D'you have any alcohol?" Sherlock broke the silence. "What?" I replied. "Or a gun, either will do. As long as I don't feel the cold any longer." I rolled my eyes and questioned to myself how the Holmes' actually dealt with such an annoying son. But then it dawned on me; they sent him to boarding school. "Get into your sleeping bag then." I kicked the sleeping bag at my feet over to Sherlock. "How?" he asked. I immediately burst into hysterics, only to be cut short by Sherlock's stern facial expression. "Oh fine, I'll help."

I pulled out his sleeping bag, and threw it in his general direction. As I did so, a small plastic bag fell out and landed near his foot. "Ah." He jumped to get it but I snatched it before him. I held it in the air between our faces and knew exactly what it was straight away.

"Sherlock, why have you packed marijuana?" I looked at him blankly. "Why have you even _got_ marijuana?" I flicked the packed in the air and the smell slowly seeped through the packet's seam. "I…I thought it would be fun." "Fun?" I was confused. "You always talk about this kind of thing at the parties you go to, and…well, it was highly stupid of me really to think that we could have as much fun as you do."

I should've realized that Sherlock has little experience with social activity and friends. Even though he managed to buy an illegal drug, and I have no idea how, it was in consideration of my happiness. I sighed.

"Thank you Sherlock." I smiled gently and passed him the packet. "So, are we going to…?" He trailed off. "Later, if you want to." He smiled and I smiled. Suddenly the air was much warmer.

For a while we lead and did our own things, Sherlock gave in and made tea; and I read The Perks of being a Wallflower – A book of my sisters that I shoved into my bag when leaving the house. I liked the idea of being a wallflower, and I liked the idea of being Charlie, all until the whole plot came clean.

"Right." I stood up, hunched over to mind my head on the ceiling of the tent. "I'm going for a piss. Please listen out for any bears, but don't listen out for the sound of my pissing." "John, we don't have bears in England, and why would I want to listen to you empty your bladder?" "No reason." I zipped up the tent and walked into the dense woodland.

"Jeeeesus Christ." I threw myself back down onto my part of the tent and burrowed my face into my pillow. "Hmh?" Sherlock put his book down, "If you need a whiz in the night, I give you permission to do it in a bottle in the tent. Don't go outside to wee." Sherlock gave a look of confusion. "I ALMOST LOST THE POOR CHAP." I exclaimed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind, Sherlock. Enjoying yourself?" He nodded. The soft lighting of my torch made his facial features soft against the green tent. "Sure? Not hungry or anything? Need to stretch your legs?" Sherlock has the tendency to keep things that may highlight him being weak to himself. "No, Mum. I'm fine." Sherlock smiled jokingly at me as I wrapped my blanket across my shoulders. "Well, there is one thing." He sipped his tea and placed it against the gap between his jaw and shirt. "I'm a bit cold." "You twat!" I laughed. "I told you to pack well, it's fucking _snowing_." He looked at his feet. "Fine, come here. But not a word is spoken to anyone, people will talk." He scooted on his bottom and dragged along his sleeping bag. "Okay, so just…yeah. Sit next to me." I wrapped my two blankets over our shoulders and back, and opened our sleeping bags and draped them over our legs. "Warm?" I asked. "Very." He whispered into his mug.

We sat like that for a while and just talked, and I don't even know what about; but the sound of him explaining his experiments and investigations warmed me inside. It was almost a reassurance of my safety, and it made me feel alive. The warmth of his body next to me was so subtle but we were pressed against each other from hip to shoulder, and it felt _right._

"John…John!" Sherlock had moved and was sitting facing me. "Oh, sorry Sherlock." I must've been daydreaming…what if he knew what I was dreaming about? What if he could _read_ my mind? "Do you want to, you know…" "I don't know, Sherlock, what?" "Well I did buy it for us to use…" I looked at him squarely. "Okay, but let me get this straight. I do not condone drugs, Sherlock. And I don't want you to smoke them if you feel as if you're doing it do make me happy, okay?" He nodded. "Are you sure?" I asked again. "It's an experiment, John. I want to know what it _feels_ like." I passively smiled. "Okay, pass me your stuff."

I carefully rolled out tobacco over the cigarette paper, placed in a filter and finally a safe amount of weed into the joint. I licked the edge of the paper and rolled it tightly. "You got a lighter?" He nodded. "Open the tent slightly." I looked at him and asked him carefully. Flames and tents aren't a perfect combination, after all.

I put the joint between my lips, sighed, and then lit it. I breathed in the smoke and felt it pour into my lungs, my eyes flickered backwards as I felt the surge of adrenaline rip through my body. Sherlock sat close to me and monitored my every move. I lit the joint again and inhaled; spluttering slightly as I breathed out the fumes. I passed the joint to Sherlock. "Put it between your lips." My voice was croaky and harsh. "I'll light it." Sherlock silently obeyed and put the amber-lit stick between his lips; I cupped my hand gently on Sherlock's jaw and lit the joint. "Inhale, hold, exhale." I sat back on my heels and watched my friend intoxicate his lungs, his body, and mind as he inhaled the smoke. His eyes watered. "It's okay." I giggled. "Exhale!" He opened his lips and a small trace of smoke lifted into the air and into the tent. "Are you okay?" I put a hand on his shoulder as he inhaled again and nodded. "Light me up, John." He swayed as he spoke. I giggled and lit the joint.

We'd finished our first joint, visions became slurred…no, _blurred_. Sherlock and I were lying on our backs and staring at the top of the tent; our hands had become an array of rabbits, dogs, deer, and butterflies. Sherlock spoke to me facts about each animal, and told me their pros and cons. He particularly liked the idea of being a caterpillar, so he could evolve into a butterfly. He stood and hit the tent, I laughed and told him to 'Shhh!'. He jumped into his…no, my sleeping bag and zipped it up to his chin, and put the hood over his head. "Look, John!" He hopped and wobbled a little. "I'm a _caterpillar_!" "Sh…Sherlock, sit." "Caterpillars do not sit, John! I am offended." I whipped my legs round and knocked him onto his arse. "They sit now, Sherlock." We giggled together until he pointed again at the small pouch of weed. "More?" I tried to sound surprised, but sounded more excited.

"A bee! No, no a bee is not a film." We giggled. "Oh come on John, isn't is obvious?" Charades with Sherlock was never easy. He flapped his arms about and scooted about side to side on his knees. "Can't we do something else?" I flopped backwards. "We could…" "We've smoked it all, Sherlock." "Damn." He sat. "What were you?" I asked. "Skyfall." I sat up. "_Skyfall_?" I laughed. "Yes." He stared blankly for a few moments and then broke into a laugh.

"Tell me a story." I spoke softly to Sherlock; I had no idea on the time and started to feel a little tired. Sherlock lead next to me and folded his hands under his head. "A story?" "Yes." "What about?" There was a pause. "You." There was another pause.

"When I was younger" He began. "I say younger, eleven-ish, actually maybe more fifteen. Before you joined our school." I hummed to allow him to know that I was following. "I didn't have many…any friends." The air fell dead. "I was sad about that, I never admitted it. Normal people had friends, I knew that I wasn't normal, but I knew that all people should be entitled to friendship." His voice sounded broken. "Well, people would tease me because I had no friends…which was totally unfair, John. I had no friends because they didn't allow me to join their activities and fun." I felt Sherlock's hands move against his stomach; he was trembling. "Well…the activity they enjoyed most was hurting me. Pinning me down and screaming at me, whispering taunts at me. And it was unfair, John." His voice broke more and I reached for his hand; he opened it and I held it tightly. "They hurt me, John. I know that caring is no advantage, but it hurt." I didn't look at him, but he sobbed silently as he spoke. "But you came along, you made me happy, and you made me human. And that, John, is the best gift that anybody could grant me."

I sat up and looked at Sherlock, his eyes were closed and his face red-raw from emotion. "Oh, Sherlock." I sighed. I blinked slowly; my body still intoxicated. I then leaned forward and pressed my lips lightly against his, moving slowly upwards as he flicked his eyes open. His lips tasted salty from tears, his hands moved from his sides to my shoulders, he tugged at my jumper slightly and pulled me in for a deeper kiss. "Mhm…Sherlock." I pulled away. "Are you sur-are you wearing MAKE-UP?" His eyes widened. "Oh, shit. No. You've been crying, sorry." I blushed in embarrassment, and internally cursed at the drugs. He giggled and leaned into me again and kissed my nose, chin, and then my lips. I rested my hand against his neck, rubbing softly at the skin hidden beneath his shirt. He shuddered under my grip, I giggled and he giggled too.

My vision was now less blurred, I reached and worked undone his shirt's buttons. It was much more difficult than I thought it would be, but as he wriggled under my grip he tore of the last three remaining buttons. I cursed but helped him to work off his shirt and throw it into the corner of the tent. I leaned in from where I was straddling Sherlock's hips and kissed the nape of his neck, goose bumps formed under every kiss that I planted on his skin. And as I sucked a little harder, the red patches blossomed like the first flowers of spring. I smiled at my little creations that were tattooed across his body. I smiled at my best friend, my Sherlock, and our stories.


End file.
